


Run Away With Me

by BleedingInk



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe - Human, F/M, Fame, Rock Stars, Secret Relationship
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-01
Updated: 2018-10-01
Packaged: 2019-07-21 01:07:18
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,337
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16149338
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BleedingInk/pseuds/BleedingInk
Summary: Castiel and Meg must keep their relationship a secret for the sake of their band.





	Run Away With Me

**Author's Note:**

> This was written as a birthday present for Regine! I hope you enjoy it!

Castiel is sweating like a pig and losing concentration. He focuses on getting the notes of his riff just right. A part of him knows that people aren’t really there to hear the most polished version of their music, but that’s no excuse to let his performance slip.

The crowd jumps and dances just beyond the line of the stage, singing along while Dean struts and shouts into the microphone, like a black tide Castiel can barely make out under the beams that bathes them in unbearable golden light. If it wasn’t that late into the night, maybe he would be moving more, jumping, working up the crowd with his band mates, but after almost two hours up there, his fingers are starting to go numb from pressing the guitar’s cords and all he can really feel is his exhaustion.

The others don’t seem to have this problem. Dean’s still dancing, moving his hips and getting every girl in the audience to scream out loud until their throats are sore. He’s a decent enough singer, but he more than compensates his lack of technique by being so charismatic and passionate it’s easy to see why people always requests his autograph or to take a picture with him first and foremost. His brother Sam, behind the drums, also isn’t resting: he waves his long arms, hitting on everything around him with such energy it’s almost a miracle he manages to keep the right rhythm.

Castiel is so lost in his music that he almost doesn’t notice that Meg ran all the way from the other side of the stage and planted herself in front of him, her boots firmly on the floor while she holds her bass up and shakes her head back and forwards, following the melody of the song. She’s as sweaty as him, her bleached blonde hair with violet streaks damp and her face reddened, but amazingly, her scarlet lipstick and black eyeliner hasn’t smudged. She smirks at him and suddenly, Castiel doesn’t feel as tired anymore.

He stops looking down and moves with her while Dean points the microphone to the crowd so they can scream the chorus back at him. The night reaches its climax and Castiel goes into his riff with renewed energy and gusto, basking in the attention placed on him, the cheers and applause. But most of all, basking in the way Meg’s eyes glimmers and her body shakes in front of him, enticing him…

 

* * *

 

They met years before, when his band was still only just a sliver more famous than hers, before the Grammy nomination for their third album and the international tours. Their bands coincided on the same day at a music festival, and Castiel was impressed by her energy and talent. She was like a radiant star among her band mates, who were all decent, but nowhere near her level. Her long fingers flew up and down the bass’ neck like a spider and no matter how much she moved and jumped the stage, she never for a second lost the beat.

After the concert was over, they invited Meg’s band to hang out around their tour bus, which was slightly bigger and better equipped for a night of drinking and celebration. Castiel would’ve preferred it if they just quietly went to sleep, but since Meg’s band consisted on two other pretty girls besides her, it was obvious that Charlie and Dean were going to want them around.

“What is the point of being rockstars if we don’t get to party and hang with beautiful girls?” Dean always asked.

Castiel sometimes answered that the point was playing music and sometimes just sighed and resigned himself to be dragged into a party he knew he wouldn’t enjoy.

That night, however, he did done something very unlike him and very rockstar-like: he had a one-night-stand with a woman he barely knew.

They’d been sitting outside their bus in the summer night, drinking beer, talking and laughing with Meg’s band mates, Ruby and Lilith, people from some other bands whose names he didn’t remember and some groupies who had snuck past security. Castiel got up to go to the bathroom. He wasn’t quite drunk, but he was definitely tipsy. He stumbled out of the bus when he was done and almost crashed into Meg, who leaned against the vehicle with a cigarette between her fingers.

“Oh, sorry,” he muttered.

“Why are you apologizing? That’s your bus,” she said, with a chuckle.

Castiel discovered that along with her stage presence and talent, he also liked her raspy voice and smile. She still had her natural dark brown hair then, so she looked like a shadow standing in front of him, the tip of her cigarette being the only little light besides the moon and the stars that lit up the darkness. Castiel’s alcohol-soaked brain remembered there was something he needed to tell her.

“You… you play good. I like how you…” He stopped, because he wasn’t making any sense and tried again: “You’re very talented. You’ll go far.”

Meg arched an eyebrow at him, amused.

“Thank you,” she told him. “You’re pretty great yourself. Did you come up with those riffs?”

Castiel would later swear up and down that when he offered to show her his guitar, he wasn’t trying to make any sort of innuendo or come-on. He genuinely wanted to talk about music. Meg insists that she wouldn’t have put the moves on him the minute they stepped inside the bus if he hadn’t given her the look. He still isn’t sure what look she was talking about, but that night, when she put a hand on the back of his head and pulled him in for a kiss, he definitely forgot everything he wanted to tell her about the riffs.

 

* * *

 

The mood after the concert is over is one of pure euphoria. They are in the backroom with their techies and roadies, popping beers and celebrating the end of yet another tour. Dean is hooting and laughing and Sam shakes his head at his brother’s antics. It’s impressive that he’s so loud after he’s just been singing at the top of his lungs for two hours straight.

“Alright, everybody, alright!” Dean says, his voice only just a little bit hoarse. “Everybody go home, kiss your wives and children, because we’re fucking done for the next six months!”

Everyone around claps and cheers, and Castiel is relieved. He really enjoys travelling and playing his music, but after three months, he’s more than ready to spend the winter working on new music and lyrics, catching up on series and of course…

Meg comes out of the bathroom, with a towel around her shoulders. She’s wiped off her make-up and wetted her hair. She grabs a pack of cigarettes from the table and lights one on with expert, fluid movements.

“And of course, an applause for the best bass player ever!” Dean says when he spots her. “Miss Meg Masters, everyone!”

Castiel always freezes when people look at him when he isn’t expecting it. Meg, of course, handles it with a lot more grace. She blows out a ring of smoke and raises a beer at Dean.

“And to our resident squirrel, Dean Winchester!” she replies. “Who can’t ever shut up or stay still!”

“Ah, come on, you love me!” Dean says, as he steps down from the coffee table where he was standing and goes to hug her.

“Ugh, stop being such a dork,” Meg protests, playfully struggling to get away from him. “All this love and harmony is freaking me out.”

“Don’t worry, I’m sure we’ll be at each other’s throats as soon as the next album goes in to pre-production,” Dean says. “Ain’t that right, Sammy?”

“I’m sure,” Sam agrees. He looks even larger than onstage, with his feet propped up the couch’s armrest. “You guys want to go out for dinner?”

Meg glances in Castiel’s direction. She doesn’t need to say a word for him to know exactly what she’s thinking.

“Actually, I think we’re ready to go,” he said.

 

* * *

 

Charlie, their former bass player, left the band in the middle of the recording of their third album.

“I’m sorry, guys,” she said, in tears. “I just can’t. This life… it’s all too much. I need to slow down.”

Castiel understood her. They all did. Charlie suffered from anxiety and bipolar disorder that were exacerbated by the constant touring and irregular lifestyle they were forced to have while on the road. So no one was mad at her the day she broke down and announced she couldn’t keep doing this anymore.

Dean sat down with her in the studio’s couch and patted her cheek until she stopped crying.

“It’s okay, honey. Hey, we get it. You need to take care of yourself first, okay?”

“But what are you going to do?” Charlie sobbed. “The album’s not finished and you need a bass player!”

“We’ll find someone,” Dean insisted. “Don’t worry about us.”

After Charlie’s girlfriend, Dorothy, came to pick her up, the rest of The Hunters had an emergency meeting with their producer, Chuck, and their manager, Naomi. It was long and hard.

“The label is not going to like this,” Naomi said. “The contract doesn’t…”

“Gimme us break, Naomi. The fucking album will be ready when it’s ready, okay?”

Naomi lifter her hands up in the air, as if she was too tired to even argue with Dean.

“I can’t see how you’re going to pull it off without a bass player, but if you say so.”

“Cas can play the bass.”

“He can’t play it while he’s also playing the guitar up on the stage.”

“Well, then, we need to get someone else,” Sam said. Dean looked at him as if the very idea of doing that was an insult to Charlie, but Sam had always been the more practical of the two brothers. “They don’t have to be an official member of The Hunters. Castiel can record the bass parts for now, so this person would just have come on the tour with us.”

“Okay, but who?” Chuck asked.

There was a moment of silence until Castiel cleared his throat. He’d known the answer before the question was even been asked. He’d known it the second he realized they would need another bass player.

“How about Meg Masters?”

The Winchesters turned to him with identical frowns. Clearly they didn’t remember her, not by name, at least. But Chuck and Naomi exchanged a look and then, as if they were cowboys drawing out their weapons, they took out their cellphones and quickly started writing in them.

“Daughters of Darkness broke up last year,” Chuck announced after two seconds. “So she’s probably not busy.”

“I don’t have the number of their former manager,” Naomi said, with frustration, as she scrolled through her contacts list. “But I know someone who should be able to get it. Give me twenty four hours, boys, and I’ll get her on the phone for you.”

Castiel was sure she would. She was efficient like that.

On the way to the apartment that they all shared when they were recording, Dean threw Castiel a strange look.

“Are you sure about this Masters chick? Is she any good?”

“You knew her. The Free Will Festival, three years ago,” Castiel said.

He hoped they had been too drunk that night to remember that he’d disappeared inside the bus with her until the break of dawn. That would have been a little embarrassing. Sam and Dean never had a problem with sleeping around, be it with roadies, groupies or people from other bands (Dean more so than Sam, but Sam was definitely not above it). However, Castiel didn’t like that sort of thing. He preferred long term relationships, which was a hard thing to have since he was constantly either recording or away from home on tour those days.

Meg had been the exception. He remembered her soft skin, her warmth, the way her moans had echoed in her ears and how she’d sat up in the bunk bed, shamelessly naked with a cigarette between her lips when they were done.

“Well,” she’d laughed. “We should make some music together again some time.”

Castiel was pretty sure this had been a double entendre. But he really had wanted to make music with her since he’d seen performing on stage.

 

* * *

 

There’s people waiting for them everywhere they go. People outside concert venues that waited in the night to get their autographs. People outside their hotels even though Castiel has no idea how they found out they were staying there. People in airports when they take off and also when they land. Paparazzi flashing their cameras in their faces, fans screaming their names and waving banners in their faces to ask for their autographs or asking for a picture. Benny, their bodyguard and driver, does his best to keep them away, but they were always there, waiting.

Dean insists that this all part of the trappings of fame, a burden they had to bear. He soaks up the attention like a sponge, so of course he would say that. He always stops and takes selfies with whoever requests it and signs whatever they put underneath his nose. Sam, a little more practical, says that they can’t ignore the fans, because that would be biting the hand that feeds and Castiel thinks that’s a good point.

He still wish they could get to their truck a little bit faster. He’s exhausted after all this time on the road and all he wants to do is go home, have some pizza and snuggle with his girlfriend. Just… be away from all the people screaming his name and loud questions at him.

“Cas, over here! Cas! Sam, Sam, please sign this! Dean!”

He notices that not many people call Meg’s name or tries to get her signature. She doesn’t seem particularly bothered, but it’s hard to make up her expression behind the shades she wears. She breezes past behind Sam and Castiel tries to follow her quickly. Not quick enough that he doesn’t hear someone ask:

“When is Charlie coming back?”

It’s always uncomfortable when someone asks that. Luckily, over time, Dean has developed a standard answer.

“She never left. She still writes with us, but she just can’t handle being on stage right now.”

That makes Meg’s jawline became tenser. Castiel approaches and wishes with all his might that he could put a hand on her lower back or pass an arm around her shoulders, pull her in and protect her from all the glares darting in her direction. Hold her hand, at the very least. But the most he dares to do is tug at her sleeve. He knows that anything more affectionate than that would get them both in trouble and after the scandal a couple months back, he doesn’t think any of them has the emotional fortitude to withstand another.

“You okay?” he whispers.

“Yeah,” she answers in the same tone. “Let’s just go.”

It’s easier said than done. Benny has to practically drag Dean away by the waist and the fans sigh and protest, but finally they get inside the truck with black windows and drive away from all the noise and screaming. Sam got in after Meg, so Castiel doesn’t have the chance to touch her even then.

She doesn’t climb on top of Sam to try and get to Castiel, however. She leans her head against the window and sighs deeply, which worries Castiel. She’s been quiet since the left their hotels the night before and slept through the entire flight. She’s usually not this exhausted after a tour.

Sam realizes this too and puts a hand on her shoulder.

“Meg? Are you feeling okay?”

“Why does everyone keep asking me that?” Meg groans, but she lifts her chin and forces a smile out. “I’ve been feeling like shit for a couple of days. It’s nothing bad,” she insists when Castiel throw a worried look at her. “Just… maybe a flu or something like that.”

“You should go home and get in bed,” Sam suggests.

A mischievous smirk appears on Meg’s lips and suddenly she looks a lot more like herself.

“Oh, trust me. That was exactly what I was planning to do.”

She winks at Castiel and he smiles back. Sam and Dean pretend to be disgusted by their flirting, and suddenly, everything else as it should be.

At least for the time being.

 

* * *

 

He was writing down some new melodies for the album in his apartment when his cellphone’s screen lit up with an unknown number. Before he’d become slightly famous, he would have refused to pick up, but these days only a handful of trusted people had that number and if someone new was calling him, it was because one of those trusted people wanted him to talk to that person. He fully expected it to be a tabloid journalist inquiring about Charlie’s departure (they hadn’t officially announced it yet, but gossip moved fast on the Internet), which was why the raspy voice on the other side surprised him.

“You know, there were other, simpler ways of getting my number.”

“Meg,” he muttered, astonished. “Umh… hello, how you’ve been? It’s been a while, I…”

“Really?” she laughed. “You’re gonna go with that?”

It was impossible to tell from her tone if he was angry that he had tried to contact her or not. Castiel immediately felt put on the spot.

“I… I know we’re not exactly friends and…”

“Three years, Castiel,” she interrupted him. “We had one awesome night three years ago, then you didn’t even try to get in touch with me again. And now your manager calls me out of the blue saying you need a bassist? What gives?”

Castiel decided she didn’t sound angry. Just very, very confused.

“We do need a bassist.”

He explained about Charlie and her mental illness, the unfinished state of their album, the fact that they had already started booking venues for their next tour and how that would all go down in flames if they didn’t get a replacement soon. He thought about her first, because he had followed the short but brilliant career of Daughters of Darkness and he respected her talent as a musician.

Meg listened to him in silence.

“We’re not offering you to become an official, full-time member. Not yet, at least,” Castiel said. He had decided to be as sincere with her as he could. “I guess that’ll depend on a series of things. But right now, we need some help with this and I think you’re the right person for it.”

She didn’t say anything for a long time.

“Meg? Are you still there?”

The sound that followed surprised him a little.

“Goddammit, you really need a bassist,” she said. She sounded amused. “I thought this was an elaborate booty call after that actress chick dumped your ass.”

Castiel cringed. His break-up with April Kelly after almost a year of dating her had been a very public, very humiliating affair that he wasn’t sure he wanted to discuss again.

“No,” he said. “It’s a job offer. If you’re interested…”

“Well, how about this? I’m gonna be in a L A. for the weekend. Let’s get together for drinks and we’ll discuss it face to face.”

 

* * *

 

Officially, Meg lives upstate, in Sacramento, and travels to L.A. when she’s needed for band business. Unofficially, she pretty much moved in with Castiel at some point during the last couple of years. Her clothes and possessions are everywhere in the apartment, her makeup is in the sink next to his razor blade and shaving cream. Her favorite bass rests on a stand next to his favorite guitar.

It’s such a relief when he closes the door behind him and almost jumps towards her arms. When their mouths finally clash against one another, when their hands start roaming through each other’s body. They leave the bags abandoned by the door and stumble towards the bedroom, but Castiel is so eager to be with her again they don’t really make it all the way there. They fall together over the couch, a mess of limbs and mouths going everywhere, pulling hair and biting lips.

“Oh, God,” he mutters against her skin. “Oh, God, I missed this so much.”

“Me too.” She moans when he unzips her jeans and slides his fingers inside to touch her. “Wait, Clarence. Hold up.”

Castiel stops what he’s doing and looks up at her, worried. Is she feeling bad again? Does she need to get some rest? But her eyes are glimmering when she moves away from him and her smirk is as mischievous as ever.

“I got something to show you. Been dying to for days,” she announces, getting up from the couch.

But she doesn’t go far: she stays close enough and pulls her shirt over her head. She’s not trying to tease him or get him to look at her, he realizes, or she wouldn’t unclasp her bra so fast. She moves her hair aside for Castiel to have a good view of her naked back. He is about to ask her what he’s supposed to be looking at when he realizes.

Among the flowers and colors that decorate her skin, there’s a new design that goes from shoulder blade to shoulder blade, two wings with black feathers spread out on her back. Between the two of them, following the line of her spine, there are series of symbols he recognizes right away. They’re Enochian runes that spell out the name of the angel he is named after.

“What do you think?” she asks, looking at him over her shoulder with a smile.

Castiel stands up and runs his fingers down the tattoo. The ink is still black and pristine, meaning she must have got it at some point during the last week of their tour. She gets new tattoos every now and then, on unpredictable whims, but this…

“This is… Meg, you…”

He’s at a loss for words when his eyes meet hers and she gives him a mischievous smirk, he realizes that was exactly the effect she was looking for.

“That’s very conspicuous,” he says in the end. But he can’t hide his own smile as he leans over to kiss her shoulder. “What if you do another photo for one of those porn magazines and somebody notices it?”

“For the last time, they’re not porn. They’re erotic,” Meg replies, with a giggle. “I didn’t know you care about that.”

“I don’t,” he whispers as he snakes an arm around her to cup one of her breasts. “They can watch you all you want. I’m the only one who gets to touch.”

He pinches her nipple to punctuate that statement and he’s rewarded with a soft moan from her lips.

“You still haven’t told me what you think,” she insists, though by the way she clashes her body against his and grinds her ass against his crotch, Castiel thinks they’re going to be changing the topic very soon. He still runs his fingers over the Enochian runes that spell out a name – his name.

“It’s… you realize this is permanent, right?”

She turns around slowly and puts her arms around his neck.

“And do you think we are _not_ permanent?”

Castiel already knows the answer to that question, but he kisses her instead of answering. That seems enough to distract Meg, because a second later, she’s hooking her legs around his hips like a koala and he finally gets to take her to the bedroom.

 

* * *

 

And to think it started as something “casual”.

Castiel had been apprehensive at first. It had been one thing to have a one night stand with her when they were virtual strangers, it was another to sleep with her on semi-regular basis when there was the possibility that she would officially become part of The Hunters.

She laughed at his concerns, of course. He remembered that night clearly, with her lying on his bed, her golden hair spread on the pillow and the orange glow of the tip of her cigarettes.

“You’re worried we’re going to break up and it’s going to be awkward, huh?”

“I’ve just come out of a relationship that ended in disaster,” Castiel reminded her. “So yes, that is something that is on my mind.”

“You know, I always thought she was a crazy bitch,” Meg said. She sat up, grabbed the ashtray from the night table and tap her cigarette. “With her hole _‘Oh, look at me, I’m America’s sweetheart, aren’t I so pretty and perfect and nice?’_ shtick.”

“Stop,” Castiel said, but he couldn’t hold back his giggles. Her imitation of April had been nearly perfect. He sighed and shook his head. “She had… issues. I tried helping her, but there’s only so much you can do for someone who doesn’t want to be helped.”

Meg didn’t laugh at that. She put her cigarette and the ashtray away and softly ran a finger down his chest and stomach.

“Well, I have issues too, but I’m a big girl. I don’t expect you to be my dad or my damn therapist.” She passed a leg over him to gently settle over his lap. “I expect you to be my friend. I expect you to be my lover. The rest will sort itself out.”

It was always easy to believe whatever Meg told him when she was sitting on top of him. Not that she ever lied to him, but she was wrong about a lot of things.

They didn’t get the bad news until after their Grammy loss, as if that wasn’t bad enough already.

Dorothy, Charlie’s girlfriend and their PR person, set the computer over the table in the label’s meeting room.

“So, social media is saying you were robbed blind and that you should have got the Grammy,” she said.

“We knew that already,” Dean said, rolling his eyes.

“It’s important that you don’t come off as sore losers, because that might lessen their sympathy,” she continued, throwing Dean a glare. Dean raised his hands as if to indicate that he’d keep his mouth quiet. “But that’s only part of it. Castiel, people don’t like what you’re doing.”

Castiel blinked at her, confused.

“What… what am I doing?”

“Well, you know after you broke up with April she sort of had a full meltdown and she had to check into a clinic?”

Castiel grimaced. He had been on tour while all of that went on, but he’d heard some things about it.

“They’re sort of blaming you for that,” Dorothy continued.

“What?” Castiel shook his head. “No, that happened months after we broke up. She…”

“… and they don’t like that you apparently became so close to Meg in such a short time after you ended with April,” Dorothy continued.

She turned her laptop over to show them a tweet with a picture of them. It had been during the previous night’s ceremony. Meg had leaned over to whisper something in his ear (he couldn’t even remember what it was now) and he’d laughed. Castiel didn’t the picture showed in a particular salacious position, but the tweet that accompanied read: “THAT BITCH NEEDS TO GET HER HANDS OFF DEAN’S BOYFRIEND!”

“What’s that thing about him being my boyfriend?” Dean asked, frowning in confusion.

“Are _you_ dating Castiel?” Sam asked, tilting his head towards his brother.

“Destiel. It’s a fandom thing.”

“I thought they were mad because I broke up with April?” Castiel said, as confused as Dean.

“They’re mad about many things. Look, the point is, people are saying that Meg slept her way into the band and they don’t like her,” Dorothy explained.

Meg laughed as if that was the best joke she’d heard in a while.

“Really? That’s it? Come on, I have been called a lot worse by people I actually cared about.”

But despite her nonchalance, Castiel noticed the way Naomi and Chuck exchanged a look at that information. They were worried about this.

“What do you suggest we do?” Naomi asked.

“Well, the easiest thing is not to bring it up,” Dorothy said. “The Grammys are over. The tour is over. People expect you to go away for a while now, so they have time to forget a little about this until the next album. And when someone asks, you tell them you’re just friends and that’s it.”

There was an awkward silence in the room. Castiel hadn’t realized until that moment how much of an open secret his relationship with Meg was. They’d never sat down and explained it to anybody, they’d just sort of… assumed they knew. Sam and Dean surely knew. Chuck was with them while Meg recorded the songs that Charlie hadn’t had time to, so he knew. He wasn’t sure Naomi knew or cared to know. Dorothy definitely seemed surprised enough that he could’ve believed she didn’t know.

“Right.” She leaned back on the chair and ran a hand through her hair. “So… that’s gonna be a problem.”

The rest gave them a few minutes alone in the room to decide “what they wanted to do”. There weren’t really too many options, as Dorothy had laid it out for them: either they went public with their relationship and accepted the shitstorm that would follow or they kept it lowkey.

“At least for the time being,” she’d said. “People are still getting over the fact Charlie left the band. Meg has to give them time to endear themselves to her and them knowing she snatched Cas so soon after April… it’s not a good look.”

She didn’t say it, but there was another option.

“We could always just… stop,” Meg suggested.

Castiel slowly raised his eyes at her. Her bleached blonde hair was like a halo around her face. Her full lips that were always in the shape of a kiss and her sweet brown eyes made his stomach flutter all of the sudden. It was as if now that he was facing the possibility of losing her, he was looking at her as if it was the first time and realizing just how beautiful she really was.

“Do you want us to stop?”

Meg took her time to answer. She took out her pack of cigarettes, lit one and took a long drag, even though Naomi had asked her plenty of times not to smoke there.

“No,” she admitted in the end. “And you know, I don’t care. I’m no stranger to controversy. People can say whatever they want about me, I have no fucks to spare for their opinion.”

“So why would you…?”

“Because _you_ care,” she answered. “You care about this band, you care about how a scandal like this would affect it. I’m not gonna be like April and ask you to choose between it and me.”

Castiel would later point that as the moment their relationship stopped being “casual” and became something else. Because, after deciding to be a musician, he’d never in his life felt so sure about something.

 

* * *

 

It’s not easy.

They have to show themselves to be friendly with each other, but not overtly so, no more than he would be with Sam and Dean. They’re forbidden from any sort of public displays of affection, and that includes going on a date like a normal couple would. On tours, they can’t sleep in the same hotel room, which is a rule they only respect if Sam and Dean have someone over for the night. Castiel still remembers the panic he felt when he tiptoed out of Meg’s room one morning in Denver and came face to face with a girl in a miniskirt carrying her shoes in her hands coming out of Dean’s room. He was lucky the girl was just startled as him and fled towards the elevator without saying a word.

He supposed after years of doing this, they would get used to it. But they never do. He longs to hold her hand on red carpets, to kiss her in moments of euphoria, to let the world know just how much he loves her.

But the time to disclose their relationship never seems to come. People still ask about Charlie. They still say awful things about Meg on social media. He tries to pretend like he isn’t aware of it, but it hurts that people speculate about his life as if it was a game to them and it hurts not being able to live his truth. And even though Meg pretends like it doesn’t affect her, that’s patently untrue. She seems wearier with every passing day and Castiel is starting to fear she thinks all of this secrecy isn’t worth it.

He’s been more than a little done with the entire business himself for a while now.

The doorbell echoes through the apartment. Meg, who is using his bicep as a pillow, startles awake, but he just kisses her in the shoulder and tells her not to worry about it.

“It’s probably just Samandriel with the groceries. I’ll go get it.”

“… kay,” Meg mutters before sinking her face in the pillow again.

Samandriel is his cousin and also the band’s personal assistant when they’re back in LA. He’s in college studying sound engineering and he never forgets to let Castiel know how thankful he is for having got him this “opportunity” at the label. Sometimes Castiel feels like they’re abusing the poor boy’s good will, especially when he sees him struggling with more bags than he can carry into the kitchen.

“No, don’t worry I got this,” he says when Castiel offers to help. “I got everything you put on the list: the juice, the bacon, the…”

“Yes, very well,” Castiel says impatiently. He really can’t care for groceries right now. “Did you pick up the other thing?”

Samandriel searches his pocket and takes out the velvet box with a smile of pure pride, as if he’s happy that Castiel trusted him with something so important. Castiel holds it in his hand almost reverently and opens it. The ring looks just as splendid as the picture the maker sent him and that pleases him very much. It’s a rose-shaped purple sapphire, because purple is Meg’s favorite color and because he often jokes about how thorny she is. He couldn’t just have proposed with any ring. It had to be something special.

“She’s going to love it!” Samandriel sobs.

“Keep quiet,” Castiel says, closing the box and throwing a furtive glance towards the bedroom’s door. Meg hasn’t got up yet and he doubts she can hear them from all the way there, but he still lowers his voice when he adds: “I need you to make dinner reservation. Somewhere very fancy, with a good menu and good champagne.”

“Umh… discreet?” Samandriel adds.

Castiel clasps a hand on his shoulder and looks at him straight in the eye.

“I don’t care,” he says. “I’m proposing, Samandriel. I couldn’t care less if the entire world is watching.”

Samandriel nods excitedly and takes out his phone, but before he can read out loud the suggestions to Castiel, Meg appears… and then promptly disappears inside of the bathroom without even looking at them. Castiel hides the ring in the nearest cabinet, just as coughing and retching sounds reach his ears.

“Meg?” he calls out. He raps at the door softly. “Are you okay?”

“Yeah,” Meg says. Her voice sounds course. “I think I’m gonna pass on breakfast, though.”

She vomits some more and Castiel’s worry increases.

“Is there anything I can do?”

Meg flushes and opens the door. Her face is sweaty and pale as she looks up at him.

“Can you bring more towels?”

“Right away.”

By the time he comes back, Meg’s in the kitchen whispering something at Samandriel, who has both hands on his mouth as if he’s containing himself from screaming.

“What’s going on?” Castiel asks.

“Nothing. I’m just asking Samandriel to get me some flu medicine.”

“You think you have the flu?”

“Well, even if I don’t, it’s not bad idea to stock up.” Meg shrugs. “So I think he better go do that now.”

Samandriel jumps a little, he mutters something back soon and leaves. Castiel suspects flu medicine isn’t the only thing she asked him for. Samandriel doesn’t know how to hold a poker face. Maybe he is helping Meg to prepare a surprise for him.

The idea makes him smile. Whatever it is, he is certain that his surprise would trump hers.

He passes her the towel and Meg wets it in the sink before patting her face with it to clean away the sweat.

“Are you feeling better?” Castiel asks her. “I can make you some tea like Aunt Amara used to make me.”

“You’re always so sweet on me, Clarence.” She smiles and puts a hand on his cheek, but she doesn’t kiss him. Castiel supposes it’s because she hasn’t brushed her teeth yet. “You know what I think I need? A full day of laying in bed with my boyfriend pampering me nonstop.”

“Ah.” Castiel puts her hand around her waist and pulls her close. “Just what the doctor ordered, then.”

Meg’s illness seems to come and go during the following week. Sometimes she seems perfectly times, but others Castiel wakes up early in the morning to the sound of her vomiting. He goes to her and holds her hair back and feels the knot of worry in his stomach tightening.

“Perhaps we should go to the doctor,” he suggests. “Meg, you don’t seem to be getting better…”

“Give it a couple of weeks. It’ll go away.”

She flushes the toilet and gets up to wash her mouth while Castiel stares at her with concern.

“How are you so sure?”

Meg stares at her feet for a moment and then raises her eyes at him.

“I guess I should tell you. I’m…”

Castiel’s ringtone interrupts them. He sighs and leaves the bathroom to reject the call without even looking at the screen before turning back to Meg.

“You were saying?”

Meg licks her lips and suddenly she seems nervous, more nervous than she’s ever been. That confuses Castiel. She’s usually so confident, so certain of everything she did. What could possibly make her look this way?

Before she can say a word, her phone rings too, with the Star Wars’ Imperial March. He knows that’s Naomi’s ringtone.

“We should see what she wants,” Meg says and Castiel now knows with certainty that something is definitely up. Blowing Naomi off is Meg’s favorite hobby, why would she be so eager to talk to her now?

“Meg,” he calls her and grabs her hand. “Wait. What is it? What were you going to tell me?”

She looks down at her shows another moment before taking a deep breath. She looks up and what she says next makes Castiel’s knees tremble, it makes something in his chest swell until it becomes unbearable and tears are streaming down his face. He’s sorry for whatever plans Samandriel made for them, because suddenly he thinks there’s no better place in the world to ask Meg to marry him than right there, in the middle of their living room.

 

* * *

 

Sam, Dean and Benny come knocking on their door later that night. Castiel supposes it was only a matter of time. The fact that they turned off their cellphones and outsourced all their calls to Samandriel should have been a sign that they didn’t want to be bothered that particular day, but they can’t avoid the outside world forever. Not when they’d made some choices that very same day that are going to change everything forever.

“We’ve been calling you all day, dude!” Dean says. “We have awesome news!”

He marches in, grabs a chair, turns it around and sits down as if he was in his own house. His eyes are shining bright.

“We’ve been invited to tour with The Roadhouse Crew!” he announces at the top of his lungs.

“That is great, Dean,” Castiel said, smiling. Any other day, he would have been just as excited as Dean, but with everything that transpired, his mind is elsewhere and he obviously doesn’t react with the appropriate enthusiasm.

“Cas, The Roadhouse Crew!” Sam repeats, as if Castiel didn’t hear it the first time. “They’re legends.”

“When exactly is this tour with legends happening?” Meg asks, as she steps out of the room, wrapped in her black negligee. Benny discreetly looked away, but practically living together for months at a time meant that Sam and Dean have already seen Meg in several states of undressing before.

“Why are you not jumping at this?!” Dean exclaims, throwing his hands up in the air.

“Next summer,” Sam says.

Castiel and Meg exchange a look. This wasn’t how they were planning to break the news to them, but no time like the present, correct?

“We won’t be able to go,” he states bluntly.

“Why the hell not?”

“Because, if I calculated correctly, I’ll be ready to pop by next summer,” Meg says.

Dean frowns, obviously not getting what she means, but both Sam and Benny open their eyes and mouths wide.

“You’re…?” Sam asks and Meg nods. “That’s amazing! Congratulations!”

He engulfs her in a hug and then does the same for Castiel. In the seconds it takes him to do that, the realization dawns on Dean or maybe he notices the ring in Meg’s finger.

“You two are…?” he asks, pointing at Castiel and Meg, and then just at Meg: “And you’re…? Holy shit!”

He also hugs them both, and when he lets Castiel go, he adds a pat to his cheek.

“I’m sorry about The Roadhouse Crew,” Castiel tells him.

“Nah, man, fuck The Roadhouse Crew,” Dean says, shaking his head. “This is way more important.”

“Wait until Naomi hears you saying that,” Benny snickers.

And just like that, the laughter and good cheer die out.

“Ah, hell,” Sam mutters. “They’re going to try to turn it into some sort of PR bullshit.”

“Well, I guess we’ll just have to deal,” Meg says, with a shrug. “It had to happen sooner or later. We couldn’t stay hidden forever.”

“They’re probably going to ask us to postpone the wedding until the time they deem appropriate,” Castiel sighs, defeated. “Like we’ll need their permission or something.”

Sam and Dean look at each other and do that thing where it seems they’re having a telepathic conversation.

“Well… better to ask forgiveness than permission, right?” Dean says.

“What do you mean?”

“Meg, would you be ready to marry Castiel right now?” Sam asks.

“I mean… I let him put a ring on it, didn’t I?”

“Cas, would you be?” Dean asks.

“I have been ready for a while,” Castiel states.

Dean turns his head towards Benny.

“How long do you think it’ll take us to drive to Las Vegas?”

It hadn’t occurred to Castiel, but as a beam grew on Benny’s face, Castiel came to the conclusion that was the best idea the Winchesters had ever had.

“Well, if we leave right now, we can get there early enough to apply for a marriage license first thing in the morning,” Benny says.

“Wait, we’re doing this?” Castiel asks. “Are we really doing this?”

Meg’s grin is wider than he’d ever thought.

“Yes!” she exclaims. “Let’s do it! What’s more punk than eloping?”

Castiel throws his head back and laughs. He cups Meg’s cheeks with his hands and kisses her deeply. That morning he thought he couldn’t be a happier man. It was amazing how he kept being proven wrong.

“We have to invite Samandriel,” he remembers. “He’ll never forgive me if I don’t let him be there.”

“I’ll call Charlie and Dorothy,” Sam says.

“Go get dressed, lovebirds,” Dean orders them. “We’re having a Vegas wedding!”

**Author's Note:**

> If you'd like me to write you a birthday fic as well, [here's how you can request one!](http://inkbleeder.tumblr.com/post/178377106826/spn-birthday-prompts)


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